


The Best Of

by cigarettestainedeyes



Series: The Truth Never Hurt So Good [1]
Category: Shameless (US)
Genre: Cocaine, Drug Use, F/M, M/M, Swearing, angie was really really fun to write for, for a prompt off of tumblr, the ian/mickey is background mostly
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-03-02
Updated: 2014-03-04
Packaged: 2018-01-14 08:00:15
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Underage
Chapters: 3
Words: 5,116
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1258876
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cigarettestainedeyes/pseuds/cigarettestainedeyes
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Angie Zago has known about Mickey since they were kids. Mickey's unconsciously devoted to Ian and spouts on and on about "this chick, Ginger" and Angie figures it out. She was never stupid.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This spawned from a tumblr prompt from myinterestsintheworld.

Angie Zago's known the Milkovich family since she was ten.

She met Mandy first, the girls name unbeknownst to her at the time. Angie didn't see the girl until it was too late. She was walking her new bike down the street, legs tired and worn out from riding around all day. Mandy jumped out from the alley and kicked her in the stomach. Angie was on all fours, her palms and knees scraped as she watched Mandy tear down the street on the bike, waving her middle finger behind her as she fled. It had been pink and purple with silver ribbons exploding from the handlebars.

She remembered crying heavily as she told her mother the story, who only half-listened from where she was slumped into the couch, transfixed with the television. Her mom gruffly told her to get over it. Angie stood there for a few more moments, lips wobbling and eyes wide because she had been expecting more outrage at the loss of her new bicycle. Her father had sent it for her birthday, a luxury her mother had never been able to afford. Why wasn't she angry about it being taken? Giving up, she headed towards her bedroom.

Her mother spoke again before she reached the threshold of her room, suggesting Angie dab her wounds with vodka-soaked cotton balls, old family trick. The advice was followed with a wink in her direction, the only time the whole day her mother had looked at her.

Afterwards when she had cried plenty and grew bored of what little she had in her room, she went back outside to the yard to play and she saw a boy bringing her bike back. His shirt was stained and way too big for him. When he reached the yard he wheeled the bike up to the steps leading to her front door. She noticed that he had the prettiest blue eyes she’d ever seen. He leaned the bike against the steps and left without a word.

Later that evening, she found out from her older sister exactly who the MIlkovich's were and that Angie had better stay the fuck away from the lot of them if she wanted to keep all her toes and fingers, brain cells, general belongings -- the list was long.

Flash forward a couple years and Angie was twelve, out trick-or-treating while she had the time, at least -- before the streetlights flickered on. No one was stupid enough to run around on Halloween night when you lived on a street like Angie's. Her sister had ditched her hours ago to smoke weed behind the high school on the football field with her shithead friends and Angie was left toting her plastic pumpkin of candy home all by herself. It wasn’t full but she was pleased with the haul she had gotten. She was dressed as a ghost and perhaps it wasn't original but Angie really didn't give a flying fuck -- she'd never cared about Halloween and the fascination with costumes. She just wanted the candy.

All of the sudden she was shoved to the ground and a voice said, “Just leave the candy and I won’t do anything.”

Again, a Milkovich was the cause of stinging palms and bruised knees. She was shaking as she got to her feet and turned around. Mickey looked older and meaner. He had a black eye, sneakers that were falling apart and his hair was dirty with grease.

“Don’t be an asshole.” She spat back, dropping her bucket of candy and taking the costume off, letting it crumple to the ground.

She wasn’t afraid of boys like some of the girls in her class were. Her older sister was a flake and a bitch, but she had taught Angie how to handle herself. That and Angie just didn't let people fuck with her, despite only being twelve.

His stare narrowed in recognition. The pause only lasted a moment before he reached out, shoving her back. “What’re you gonna do?” He hissed intimidatingly.

Without another word she pulled her fist back and snapped it forward, nailing him on the cheek. He grabbed at his face for a second in complete shock, then launched forward like he was going to retaliate. Angie jumped back and Mickey seemed to reconsider, his stance falling, his fist dropping.

“Whatever, I’m not gonna hit a fuckin’ girl. Shit, you can punch.” He reached up and touched his face, flinching at the pain.

“Sorry.” Angie said, not sorry at all. “But I want my candy.”

“Fine, fuck. I’ll...I’ll walk ya home so no one else messes with ya.” He offered.

Angie considered him for a moment but she didn’t see any reason not to believe him, especially now that he knew how hard she could punch. “Fine, maybe there’ll even be a Snickers in it for ya.”

“Deal.” Mickey said immediately, bending down and retrieving the pumpkin. “Come on.”

*

Nowadays, Angie only painted her nails when Mickey came over, because he could talk for an hour straight without a break. It was a really good time to get something as tedious as nail-painting out of the way. Her sister had fucked off years ago. Angie missed her, sometimes. Especially when she wanted someone to bitch at that knew she was kidding, or to score some good weed from. Now she only had Mickey. He would walk straight into the house and go to Angie’s room because he could. Mary, Angie’s mother, trusted him at this point to do so because he stayed honest with her.

Frankly, Mary Zago was fucking _scary_. She was a heavy smoker so her voice was deeper than Mickey’s. Her arms were littered with dirty tattoos and she chewed tobacco so she always smelt faintly of rotting cigarettes. She had a collection of rifles perched over the doorway and had eyed them repeatedly the first few times Mickey had been by their house when they were younger. He didn’t like the way she’d been looking at them, like trying to pick out a dress to wear and Mickey’s insides were the color scheme. He’d seen her out shooting down under the El before as a kid. She never missed a shot. He vowed never to piss them off or steal any of their shit.

Sometimes Mickey felt like Mary still didn’t like him but she trusted him to walk right into their house so he hoped she had warmed up to him by this point. She was the only parent he’d ever really cared enough about to want to try and please, to not see him as a piece of shit. He liked Angie’s company and didn’t need her damn mom breathing down their backs every two minutes. He remembered how hesitant Mary had been when Angie brought Mickey home to hang out, how worried her eyes were and how tight of a line her mouth was drawn into. Now he dutifully stood beside Angie as her best friend, gave shit to anyone that bugged her, and even knocked a kid out for calling Angie a hippo when they were thirteen. Angie didn't need the protection because they both knew she could take care of herself, but Mickey liked beating people up so it seemed like a win-win.

This time, Angie was in the middle of her history homework when Mickey walked into her room and started going off immediately.

“Fucking bitch.” He muttered.

“Excuse you?” Angie replied crisply, shutting her textbook and shoving it off her bed with a thunk. She relocated to her desk and sat down, reaching out towards the nail polish bottles lined in a row. Truthfully, she was happy for the distraction. She hated history.

“Not you, not fucking you, jesus.” He was pacing, hands clenching into fists over and over and sniffing repeatedly. He wasn’t on anything, just angry. The sniffing thing was cute in Angie’s opinion.

She glanced back at him, “Mickey, jesus, calm down, the fuck happened?” Grabbing a bottle of Orange Razz polish she shook it lightly and turned her attention to the frustrated boy.

“Mandy was attacked, by that fucking faggot red-head.” He snarled.

Angie inwardly rolled her eyes. In the fifth grade she had caught Mickey jerking it to gay porn and even though he’d vehemently deny it until the day he died, he was as queer as the fourth of July. Since her little epiphany she only feigned interest when Mickey talked about girls and tried to pry for info when he seemed to like a guy. He’d never told her straight up that he was gay but Angie didn’t need him to.

“Red-head?” She prompted.

‘“Ian fucking Gallagher. God I’m so fucking amped.” He shouted, continuing to pace and fume.

“Well jesus, Mickey, calm down.” She repeated.

He swiped at his mouth with his thumb. “Can’t.” His eyes darted over to her. “Wanna fuck?”

She’d been sipping from her can of lukewarm root beer and started coughing. “Uh, excuse you?” She eyed him curiously.

“I wanna punch something or fuck someone, just thought I’d ask.” He said, throwing his hands in the air and walking towards her door.

“Wait, wait Mick, c’mere.” Angie reached out and grappled at air, making motions for him to come back. If Mickey wanted to fuck someone, she’d rather it be with her then send him into the arms of some STD-riddled whore.

He sat down on the bed and seemed to relax a little. He didn’t look at her for a minute.

“Hey, hey.” She said and he finally made eye contact. “You sure you wanna do this?” She asked him carefully.

He nodded. “Only if you wanna, I won’t make ya.” He shrugged.

She snorted. “Please, I’d kick you in the balls, or anyone else who tried it.” After releasing a large sigh she shrugged too. “Fuck it, take your pants off.”

“Really?” He perked up, reaching behind his head and pulling his shirt off.

She watched it fall to the ground and in turn, peeled off her own. “Yup.” She said, reaching back and unhooking her bra.

They made out for a few moments once they were both shirtless. It was warm, wet, pretty uneventful but she rubbed his sides and gripped his hair and Mickey started rolling his hips.

Once they had a condom rolled on and he was comfortably inside her, he only lasted six minutes and had little coordination. When he was done he tried just rolling away and lighting a cigarette but she just tsked at him, reached over and grabbed the cigarette and pointed downwards.

“What?” He snapped, irritated she’d nabbed his smoke.

“Uh-uh, hun. I don’t do that whole ‘push push done’ shit. You want this cigarette, and for this to happen again, you’ll situate yourself down there all nice and snug and get me off.” She knew she was being mean, making a boy she knew was gay go down on her, but Mickey just shrugged again and slid down her body till he was eye-level with her pussy.

“You’re so fucking demanding.” He muttered before setting to work.

It had taken longer than six minutes, almost fifteen but Angie finally came with a loud shout and relit the cigarette that she had perched in her fingers the entire time.

“There.” She said, handing him the lit smoke.

“Wow, thanks.” He said sarcastically before taking it from her with a grin. He’d never really be pissed at her, couldn’t be.

“So, that didn’t totally suck.” She commented once they were laying side by side staring at the ceiling.

“Jeez, thanks.” He said with complete sarcasm.

She laughed and socked his arm. “Listen, Mick. I hope you aren’t like...secretly in love with me or anything and this was your way of telling me. Cause mama’s got a lot of love to give.” She said, grabbing at her tits with a chuckle.

Mickey rolled his eyes. “Promise, Ange.” He said softly.

She rolled over, head on his chest and sighed with complete content. “Good, then we can do this again if you want. A little benefit from this friendship, finally.” She joked.

He said, “Hey!” as if he was offended but she knew he wasn’t. She could hear the smile and curled her head against his chest to drift off.


	2. Chapter 2

Mandy came over the next weekend and Angie treated her to a spa day. She painted Mandy’s nails and gave her a facial and put some colored streaks in her hair. They talked about school and boys and guns (Mandy was good with firearms and Angie’s mom had enough to go around the neighborhood as well) and Angie finally said, “So Mickey told me about Ian.”

Mandy froze for a second before replying, “Yeah, but I worked it out with him. My brothers almost killed him. Ian didn’t really hurt me, I was just pissed at him.”

She nodded. “Mickey came over and told me about it when they tried to go nab him the first time.”

“Oh yeah?”

“Yeah, we ended up fucking.” She blurted out.

Mandy’s eyes got big. “Ew, I totally don’t need to know that.”

Angie grinned. “So you don’t mind?”

Mandy laughed. “Christ no, just don’t get attached. Mickey doesn’t give a shit about anything.”

“Trust me, if anyone’s getting attached, it’s that assface.” Mandy smiled widely at her and Angie returned it. “Now come on, lemme do the other side of your head. Can’t leave you lopsided.” They went back to coloring Mandy’s hair and didn’t talk anymore about it.

“What’s Ian like?” Angie asked casually. She didn’t know the boy, or care much but Mandy was always willing to spill on the guys she was fucking.

She shrugged and bit her thumb nail, a trait she and her brother shared. “He’s sweet, wants to go into the army.”

“Cool, I don’t know if I know him.”

“Gallagher, he’s got red hair, bunch a’ brothers and sisters. He’s quiet but, I don’t know. He likes me. We get along.”

Angie nodded. “Good, glad to see you finally found someone decent.”

*

Angie eventually couldn’t keep track of how many times Mickey showed up at her house drunk or high or looking to fuck in the next year. They became extremely close through everything they had in common. Both had parents who occasionally went on a bender, they knew they weren’t getting out of Chicago in the long run and Angie could shoot a .22 just as well as he could. It was a mutual sort of friendship. He was nice to her, and Mickey wasn’t nice to anyone.

There was a particular week Mickey showed up drunk off his ass, toting a still half-empty bottle of dark liquor and a bag of “some really awesome shit, Ange.” She sighed when she opened the door but he knew she’d never pass it up.

They toked, sipped from the bottle and Mickey kept sighing and looking up at the sky from where they sat on Angie’s porch. It was the gayest he’d ever looked, she thought to herself and snorted quietly.

“Dude, tell me why you’re fucking PMSing so bad.” She finally demanded.

“Fuck off.” Mickey grunted, sighing again.

“Okay.” Angie shrugged and started standing up.

“Fuck, stop, you know I hate it when you do that!” Mickey shouted and grabbed her arm, pulling her back into a sitting position.

Both of them were silent, both knew they were waiting for Mickey to start talking. “There’s this...chick.” His eyes darted to the side so he was lying, that much Angie knew for sure.

“Oh yeah? What’s’er name?” Angie asked, pulling the bottle away from Mickey and taking a long swig.

Mickey was quiet for a moment, teeth pulling at his bottom lip before he told her. “Ginger.”

Angie snorted. “Is she fifty?”

“Seriously, Ange.” Mickey said softly.

Angie sighed again. “Fine, fine, fuck. Tell me what she looks like.”

Mickey adjusted his position on the steps. “Christ, I dunno, she’s fucking tall I guess, lean, red hair.”

“What do you want with some skinny little bitch with a firecrotch?” Angie asked in shock. He had to be talking about a boy. His face was getting all flushed and his eyes were darting everywhere and he was totally in love with a boy. Angie had never seen him so squirmy. It was wonderfully entertaining.

He just shrugged in reply to her question. “I dunno...but I keep fucking it up.”

“Why?” Angie asked.

“Cause I’m...it just keeps getting fucked up.” His voice was soft, sad almost and his eyes were downcast.

She should have hugged him.

“The fuck!” He shouted when she’d smacked him on the back of the head, his hand reaching back and holding where she’d made contact. “Fuck Ange, that hurt!”

“Well stop fucking it up! Tell her you like her!” Angie insisted.

“Ugh.” Mickey groaned and rubbed at his eye absentmindedly. “This shit is so stupid.” He snagged the bottle from her and handed her the blunt she’d rolled. It was only a third of the way down and yeah, it was the good shit.

She snorted. “Yet you’re pining.” She took a hit.

Mickey gaped at her for a full ten seconds while she held in the smoke. She breathed it out right at his face and he quickly jerked away. “That’s it, I don’t wanna talk about it.” He snapped his mouth shut and was silent for only a couple of seconds. “I am not _fucking_ pining.” He was flushed, eyes paranoid and darting.

“Oh my god, you’re _blushing_!” She started cackling, tipped her head back and bellowed out laughter. He pinched the blunt out of her fingers before she could drop it. “Mickey Milkovich is blushing, oh fuck I need a camera.” She choked out when she could speak.

Mickey knew better than to punch her, so he waited until her laughter had subsided. “So, any fucking advice or ya wanna laugh some more?”

“Yeah, here’s some fucking advice.” She paused to take another pull and Mickey waited. “Stop being a pussy. Tell her you fucking like her, a lot. That you wanna be with her, cause if you’re still asking me about this dumb chick, then she must mean something to ya. You guys got a puppy that one year and I didn’t hear a damn thing about it after the day you brought it home. Your cousin got really sick the year after with like, that flesh-eating parasite and you didn’t tell me he’d recovered until six months _after_ the fact. Face it Mick, you’re hard for that ass.”

Mickey put his face in hands and mumbled something that sounded like “other way round.”

“Huh?” She leant forward.

“Nothing, fuck!” He shouted and grabbed the bottle back, downing it completely. “Fuck.” He said again when he had finished, his face twisted up.

“Yeah, bet you’re regretting that.” She nodded as he belched loudly. They were quiet for a moment, both focused on smoking the remainder of the blunt they had. Finally, Angie spoke again. “Tell me this, okay...is all this bullshit you’re feeling worth it?”

Mickey stared at the empty bottle in his hands before letting it go, letting it fall onto the step with a loud sound. It didn’t break. “It’s hard sometimes, but I know what I feel with her.” He finally said.

Angie nodded but it was mostly to herself because Mickey wasn’t looking at her. She placed a hand on his shoulder and patted it twice. “Then make it work.” She said, soundly, definitively, as if it was the only right answer. “Will you...tell me about her?” She asked lightly.

He tensed and she removed her hand. “It’s just, you never talk about her is all.”

Mickey thought about it for a moment. “She’s got freckles but she hates em. I like ‘em tho.” He continued, the second part spoken as almost an afterthought. “She’s smart but she’s not uppity about it, ya know? She doesn’t make me feel...dumb.”

“Oh yeah?” Angie coaxed. “She reads and shit?”

“Sometimes but it’s cause she...she wants to enlist.”

“Ha, really?” Angie tucked this information away for later in the back of her mind.

“Yeah, but she’s not some dork either, even though she has to study and shit she’s definitely South side, ya know? Has the attitude, the looks -- “

“The tits?” Angie tried to make him slip up.

He looked away. “Yeah, her cans are awesome.”

“Are her parents together?” She asked curiously.

“Naw, loads of siblings though. Dad’s kinda fucked up.”

“Hmmm.” Angie was deep in thought, trying to think of who he could possibly be talking about. Mickey shifted beside her and pulled her out of her inward analysis.

“No more about her now, don’t wanna think about it.” He said, rubbing at his neck just to do something.

“Want me to blow ya?” She raised her eyebrows suggestively.

“Yeah..” He said and quickly shimmied down his pants.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I really wanted to give Mickey a line that was similar to Ian's "he may have faked it once or twice but i know how he felt with me" so that's what inspired the "it's hard sometimes, but i know what i felt with her"


	3. Chapter 3

“Yo, Angie!” She heard him before she saw him, the hot sun blocking her vision momentarily while she gulped greedily from a 40.

“Yeah?” She shouted back. He was with some people, she recognized them after a few seconds as the older Gallagher brothers from a few streets over.

Lip, the ghetto wise-ass with the nice arms and ridiculous GPA glanced over at her briefly before turning to the other boy, his brother Ian. Angie vaguely recognized him from school.

“You wanna fuck?” Mickey shouted up at her. Angie noticed Ian’s face turn angry. He was openly glaring at her but when she blinked his face was neutral again. Strange.

She shrugged. “Sure.” It was a boring Wednesday, might as well get an orgasm out of it.

She walked ahead of Mickey into the house but once they were inside Mickey darted ahead of her to get into her room first and Angie had a sudden epiphany in the middle of her living room, whole body freezing in place.

Ian Gallagher.

“Holy shit.” She said, louder than intended. It all made sense as it ran through her head. There were more Gallaghers than anyone could keep track of, she’d seen their dad bumming around the neighborhood and had heard plenty from her mom about him. Mandy had mentioned Ian wanted to enlist, the red hair, it all was connecting in quick succession, lines meeting and clarity washing over her as if she were standing under a waterfall, as if she was emerging into the air from drowning.

“Ange?” Mickey came back into the living room.

“Uh.” She didn’t know what to do with the sudden realization. She quickly gathered her senses. “Nothing, just...need to grab a glass of water. I feel dehydrated.”

He followed her into the kitchen and sat at the table. A cat wandered into the room. Angie’s mother had let it in the other day and they had grown fond of it. Mickey hated the damn thing, said it made too much noise and would be an unnecessary cost. All the same he didn’t flick it away like usual when it curled itself around Mickey’s leg.

“We don’t have to fuck if you’re not feeling well.” Mickey mumbled casually, picking at the table then dropping his fingers down to the cat to scratch at its head.

She turned on the faucet, filled a cup, and set it on the counter without taking a sip. “Breaking Bad’s on Netflix, finally. Wanna do some coke and marathon it?” She suggested.

His face lit up. They didn’t fuck at all that day and Angie vowed never to fuck him again. He was in love with Ian Gallagher but he didn’t have any fucking idea. It was funny, beautiful, horrible in a way, but that was because they were in the wrong place. Angie knew Mickey’s dad, had heard the stories from the boy himself.

“What were ya doing with the Gallaghers?” She asked as they watched television, hoping Mickey would be distracted enough to open up a little.

He sniffed. “Went to jump up a pedophile, it was some chick. Didn’t want to deal with beating her up.”

“Huh.” She said, a bit lost in thought, more so do to the coke. “And how’s Ginger?”

“Fine.” He said quietly. She sent him a long look but he didn’t meet her eyes or go on.

It wasn’t the last time Mickey ended up on her couch, snorting a line off her glass table, accepting a sweating glass of homemade lemonade. A week later they were back in the same spot, watching The Wire this time, rubbing at their noses and talking too fast.

They were nearing the end of their coke high when Angie had the courage to ask, “You and Ginger still good?”

Mickey blinked a couple of times before his face turned dark with anger. “She's seeing someone. It’s pretty...fucked up.” She waited for him to continue. There were a few moments where Mickey just stared intensely at the tv and didn't talk. Then his face softened, dropped a little, and he continued. “She uh...we’ve never…” He flushed a bit. “We’ve never kissed and she’s getting really pissed about it.”

She slapped her knee. “Okay, every time we talk about this it keeps getting worse. Do you wanna know what I really think?” She spoke fast, the courage to tell the truth making her flustered. Coulda been the coke too.

He merely nodded and waited for her to continue. “Ian needs to know you care.”

Mickey’s eyes got really wide. She’d go as far to say that he looked frightened. “Wh...I don’t know what you’re -- ”

“Oh shut up, Mickey. No one told me or anything. I managed to figure it all out by myself.” She drawled, rolling her eyes. “Just kiss him. Just do it.” She shrugged, looking up at the ceiling. “Maybe it won’t be so bad. You might even like it!” She tried to sound happy but he still looked freaked out.

“Ange.” He began softly. “Please, don’t…” He trailed off, biting his lip.

“I won’t tell anyone.” She shook her head, reached over and took his hand to be comforting. He allowed it. “I won’t tell my sister, my mom, I won’t write it down in my diary. This is your thing, Mickey.”

He took a deep breath and nodded, calming down a little with her words. “Just don’t fuck it up anymore, okay?” She said with a smile. “Kiss him.”

*

Angie was making beaded bracelets in her living room when Mickey stormed into her house, slamming the front door and pacing in front of her coffee table while she glanced up at him expectantly.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck.” He kept saying over and over in a mantra.

“Mick, jesus, calm dow -- are you limping?!” She asked incredulously, noticing the slight falter he was walking with.

Mickey stopped moving. “Got shot in the ass.” He told her, giving no further explanation, absently reaching back and touching his jean pocket.

“What?” She shouted, bracelets suddenly the farthest thing from her mind.

“I kissed him, I kissed him and robbed this house and got shot and his stupid, faggy grandpa -- ”

“Whoa, whoa, stop.” She was standing now, hands out in front of her to get him to stop talking. “Tell me what happened.”

He collapsed next to her on the couch and recounted the events of the day. When he was finished Angie looked at him like she’d run a marathon. “Your life is never boring.” She said.

He blew up. “That’s all you have to say?!” He rubbed his hands over his face. “I’m freaking out here!”

Angie grinned, mostly to herself. “So how was it?”

He paused. “What? The...the kiss?”

“No, the bullet in your ass, yes, the kiss.” She deadpanned.

He was quiet, stared at the carpet like he was considering it. “It was…” He shrugged. “...just a kiss.”

Mickey was avoiding eye contact. He wasn’t very good at opening up and even something as small as talking about kissing Gallagher made him nervous.

“Just a kiss.” Angie repeated.

“It was...good, great, I don’t fucking know!” He shouted, exasperated again.

“Well, what are you gonna do now?” She asked.

“Leave town.” He replied, mostly sarcastic. “Ange, I’m freaking out. I…” He stopped, eyes darting to her then back down at the ground. “I think I like him...a lot.”

She sat back down, picking up where she left off with her bracelets. “Well good. You deserve it. Don’t give up, Mick.” She said encouragingly.

He sat down next to her, picking up one of the completed bracelets absently and messing with it. “If I...if my dad kicks me out and I have no where else to go...can I come here?” He asked.

She broke out into a grin that almost hurt. “Of course, bud. Any time ya went. Bring your boyfriend, we’ll make spaghetti and play some Grand Theft Auto.”

Mickey nodded, perking up a little at that. “You’re the only one I’d actually like, bring him over to meet, ya know?”

She was shocked. “Really?”

He looked at her slowly. “Well yeah, Ange. You’re my best friend.”

“The best of?” She asked teasingly, reaching out her fist.

“The best of.” He agreed, bumping her knuckles with his own tattooed ones.

They smiled at each other for a moment and he moved from sitting on the couch to the floor next to her. “Can I make one?” He asked, head jerking towards the bracelets.

She cut him a piece of string and they sat side-by-side, quiet except for the clatter of beads while their fingers mulled through the batch. “He was taken to a home.” Mickey mumbled. Angie stopped working and looked over at him. “His brothers and sisters too. Can’t see him anywhere but at work.”

She was quiet for a moment. “Why not let him crash at your place?” She suggested.

He snorted. “Cause one, my dad would kill me and two, firecrotch would think it was a goddamn date.”

“What a cute pet name.” She cooed. He shot her a nasty look. “Let Ian think what he wants, wait till your dads out. Otherwise come crash at mine, both of you.”

He thought about it for a moment then went back to working on his bracelet, nodding a little. “Yeah, maybe we could…”

She smiled but he didn’t see it. She felt as if she had succeeded. Ian Gallagher was slowly making Mickey more human, more like a regular person, and it was kind of needed. She vowed to help Mickey however she could, however he would allow her to.


End file.
